


If I Were The Wiser Of The Two

by apacherose



Category: Red Hot Chili Peppers (Band)
Genre: IT'S REALLY ANGSTY, M/M, Smut, angsty sex, anyway, but it's porn all the way through, just read it, this is fucking embarrassing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apacherose/pseuds/apacherose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Anthony keep having one night stands,  but it can't be that way forever.</p><p>(it'll make more sense of you read it)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Were The Wiser Of The Two

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is set in the 80's

"Need you,” Anthony said to his neck, and then bit him. John jerked, thumping hard against the door and grunting. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah—yes—okay—” It was hard to breathe, hard to move with the shaking and the need, but when Anthony dragged him to the bed by his collar John went, breath hitching in his chest and his heart pounding. He was going to explode. His head—all rattle and pound, too much want and the bittersweet-addictive taste of Anthony’s mouth overwhelming.

“My coat,” Anthony murmured, but John had already grabbed his own coat, condoms and lube from his pocket and the craving to fuck Anthony, to push into his body and take him was overwhelming, a need that went right to the core of him and made him shake. He was a mess, too much lube and overspill glistening on the skin of Anthony’s tan stomach, wiped away with a half-articulated apology before he got down to business, before Anthony half-sat-up and grabbed him by the back of the head and sucked his mouth open, spreading velvet thighs and Anthony was so hot, so hot, so tight and hot and perfect, moaning so softly into his mouth.

“Not too much,” Anthony breathed between demanding kisses, riding two fingers and clasping John between shaking thighs and—no, no, he wasn’t going to make it, Anthony was too hot and too sexy, John couldn’t stop wanting him so badly that it felt like it might kill him—he was going to come before he could even think about getting inside, he was going to come on nothing but air with his hips twitching helplessly and his fingers curling inside Anthony’s slick heat—

“Don’t.” That was rough, sharp, a command, and Anthony held the back of his neck, his warm palm rubbing up, then down, soothing. “I know you want to. But don’t. Yet.”

He did it, got a condom on himself somehow and got one of Anthony’s legs up over his shoulder then watched, sinking in, losing himself and sinking, watching Anthony stretch and take him, glittering eyes under half-lowered lashes and a flush on his cheeks and lips and chest, his gorgeous hard cock and all of him, taking it, groaning low and taking John's cock. Anthony being fucked was—would always, always be—the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“That feels so good,” Anthony breathed, barely more than a whisper but the force of it grabbed John by his spine and he shuddered, hard and helplessly, watching Anthony lift into him and spread, shift and twist a little until his head pressed back into the pillows, until a fully visible shiver ran through him, peaking his nipples to pink-copper buds, one elegant hand sliding down the curve of his stomach. “Just like that.”

Anthony, stroking himself and being fucked and moaning, eyes fluttering full-shut with dark lashes curling against his cheeks, and it was a shock when Anthony’s other hand reached up to him, cupping the curve of his neck.

“Don’t come, John—” his words went off into a throaty moan, and John bit down on his tongue and worked his hips and watched Anthony come, fucking Anthony harder until he was done, and then slower and softer and then barely at all, rocking in him and making quiet, half-sobbing noises while Anthony breathed and stretched and rubbed white wet streaks into his skin, his beautiful eyes open again, dark but still like they were catching of all the light in the room.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” soft, a plaintive statement, and John couldn’t take it, stuttering to a stop until Anthony squeezed his shoulders. “Keep going—please, John—I’m not, we’re not—keep going, okay?”

He kissed Anthony, had to, because I love you kept trying to come out of his mouth and if he let it the dam would break and everything else—don’t leave me, please don’t, I need you—was going to come pouring out behind it.

He kissed until black flowers bloomed behind his closed eyes, until his chest ached, and then he was panting and groaning into the curve of Anthony’s neck, fucking him and moving in him and Anthony’s hand between them was restless, already stroking again, knuckles brushing John's stomach, making him shiver.

There were drops of sweat on Anthony’s shoulder, and when he nuzzled there Anthony’s free hand came up and rubbed his jaw and then pressed, thumb pressing there until Johns mouth opened and then everything was wet and lush, deep kisses with Anthony moaning under him, endless movement and their two bodies locked into each other, rocking. It was hot. It was close. It was so sexy that he couldn’t stop gasping, his senses full of so much of what he couldn’t stop wanting more of.

“Oh, John, I—John—”

“No,” he said, a hoarse and helpless word that jerked out of him, because he wasn’t ready, he was not ready to be done, not ready for it to be over. Not yet. “Anthony, please—”

But Anthony was there, almost there and almost there and then coming again, while his body slowly thrashed and seized up, tight throbs, hands gripping John's shoulders so hard his joints creaked. His high, gentle cries pressed against John's ears, open lips asking to be kissed and needing to be kissed and so John kissed him, fucked him through it with his own heart tearing itself to pieces inside him, then gentled him down, one tiny bit at a time until Anthony was sighing, loose-limbed and sated and John was—still. Entirely still. Except for the shaking. He was shaking hard.

“John”

“Shh—no. Anthony—”

“John, listen—”

“I can’t. I can’t—”

Those eyes. So open to him, and—too bright. Anthony’s palm cupped the nape of his neck again, soothing him, gentling him. “It’s not… John. It’s not the last time.”

Everything suspended then— “Not…”  
Warm touch at the back of his neck, warm everywhere, and when Anthonys hands slid to cup his face he broke out in a sweat.

“Not the last time. Not for me.”

“Oh.” Rushing. Something cracking, somewhere. “Really?”

“Not for me.” Anthony repeated, and he sounded sad and happy all at the same time—he sounded honest, telling the truth, that it wasn’t, that he wasn’t going to walk away forever.

Anthony shivered and moaned a little and tugged John down into a kiss. John cried out and curled up around everything unknotting in his chest and came hard, shoving into Anthony until he gasped, driving into the silk and throb of Anthony’s body and coming in him, spilling into him, giving everything.

“Jesus, John” Barely audible, Anthony’s shaking voice.  “I love you so much.”

When he broke down, when he fell, he caught him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this make sure you leave kudos and/or a comment so I know if I should keep writing!


End file.
